


en, to, tre

by withoutwords



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Minor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: Jonas is a firm believer that good things come in threes.





	en, to, tre

**Author's Note:**

> this is for henrikimans over at tumblr. completely random, but I saw faiza talk about them and I couldn't get the idea out of my head. 
> 
> I hope people enjoy it x

Jonas is a firm believer that good things come in threes. The human species, primary colours, the Star Wars trilogies (even if some are better left forgotten). He has three best friends, and three favourite skateboards, and he tried to make it work with Eva three times before they finally agreed to close the book.

He’d loved those chapters, all three of them, but they’d both changed.

It was time for the story to change as well.

*

The first thing Mikael says to him is, “You’ve got great eyebrows,” because they hadn’t seen each other since Isak had been trying to start that fight. It’s awkward, Jonas doesn’t know where everyone stands right now, so he mostly just sits there with his mouth open and waits for the punch line.

The second thing Mikael says is, “I can’t believe that’s the best I could do,” with infectious laughter, before giving up and saying,

“You want some?” while proffering his plate. It feels like some kind of olive branch, even though he’s done nothing wrong; and Jonas just shrugs, picking up a fork and joining in.

It’s a good night.

*

Isak thanks him a lot, these days. For respect, and friendship, and loyalty. For a lot of things that break Jonas’ heart because he should  _ expect _ them from his friends. He should  _ know _ that he deserves them, no matter what he might have done once, no matter what mistakes he might make one day.

Everyone makes them. Jonas has.

“Even and I talk about parallel universes,” Isak tells him, scooping at a tub of yoghurt that he’s been playing with for almost half an hour.

“What, like, me and you are living other lives?”

“Exactly!” he crows, almost excitedly, nudging at Jonas as if he’s just aced an exam. Jonas laughs and shakes his head at him and wonders at who Isak has become. “And we always say that in every universe he and I are together.”

“Shit, that’s romantic.”

“Shut up!”

“No, really, you two are probably the most sickeningly romantic couple I’ve ever known,” Jonas teases, pulling a face at him and ignoring his protests.

“Asshole! Whatever. I was trying to talk about you and me.”

“Isak, I thought you were over that.”

“As  _ friends _ . As best friends. In every universe.”

“I like that, that’s cool.”

Jonas wonders what he thinks about in those universes. That his mum’s well? That his parents are together? That Even never doubts his worth, or Isak’s love for him, or whether he deserves all the amazing things he can imagine? Or maybe it’s simple.

Maybe they’re just girls, or they have different hair, or they don’t like Nas (Jonas can’t imagine it).

“But uh, if you think about it, our lives are parallel universes. Like, in the past we were someone different then the person we are in the present. And in the future we’ll be someone else as well.”

Isak stops jabbing at his food, and looks impressed. “Huh. Yeah. I guess.”

"We’re just lucky we get to keep each other, even when everything’s changed.”

*

Jonas wants to take classes for the rest of his life. At home, abroad, in a room, or out at sea - he just wants people to teach him everything he doesn’t know. He wants to know so much, so many things, that it will all flood out of him and other people will learn too.

“I want everything inside of me to be something someone told me,” he says to Mikael when they’re all hanging out at Isak and Even’s place, the others crowded around the PlayStation.

“How much did you drink?” Mikael teases, his head lolling on the back of the couch, a loose strand of hair near the corner of his mouth.

“I’m serious!” Jonas protests, turning and burrowing into the cushions and drilling Mikael with a look. “Tell me things.”

“Okay,” he says with a shrug, and it’s what Jonas likes about him. He’s always ready for whatever gets thrown his way. “How many things?”

“Three.”

“Okay.” He rolls out a finger, pushing it back, his eyes to the ceiling while he thinks. The light catches the green of his nails, Jonas unable to look away while he counts things out. “1, the first film studios were made in 1893. 2, Steven Spielberg never even went to film school, and 3, did you know, a film editor can request directors take additional shots if they think a scene needs to be changed. How cool is that?”

“I meant things about you,” Jonas says, but he can’t help but smile.

“That  _ was _ about me.”

“Okay. That is cool.”

“So where are those things now?” Mikael asks, throwing out a hand to rub at Jonas’ head. “In your magnificent curly hair?”

“If you want them to be,” Jonas says, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to go quieter. For the moment to become a little more serious. But it does.

“I do.” Mikael lowers his eyes. “That’s where they are.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

*

Jonas has always been the odd one out. In a lot of ways, but mostly who he is at home; happy to be around his parents, or go out with his sister, or have his friends around for dinner now and then. There was never really stress, growing up, none of that endless suffocation (not like the boys, not like a lot of people he knew). He was always breaking his own rules because his mum and dad never felt like making them.

He was always challenging himself because they let him know that he could.

“I gotta go,” Mikael says to the group at large, when they’re out for lunch one day. He’s shoving all his loose things in his pockets and climbing out of his place at the table; Adam and Mutta and Even and Elias shaking his hand, giving him hugs, kissing his cheek.

“Wait up,” Jonas says, suddenly, deciding, “I’ll go with you. I gotta go meet my sister at home.”

They shuffle down the street, on and off trams and through the park two streets from Jonas’. Mikael tells him about a job he’s going for, an assistant thing with a local photographer, and it sounds kind of perfect for him. Jonas wonders why he doesn’t seem more excited.

He doesn’t ask.

“I’m going this way,” Mikael tells him when they get to an intersection, throwing a thumb and a glance over his shoulder, in no particular direction. “Got some stuff I have to do. Have fun with your sister, don’t embarrass her will you?”

Jonas falters. He knows these moves. Isak used to use them on him all the time. The A, looking away, the B, avoiding specifics, the C, trying to shift the focus onto someone else. Mikael’s been like this since Jonas has known him, and the others never question it. It’s like he’s the only one in the dark.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“What?”

“Throw me off your scent, or whatever. I know it’s different.”

Mikael scoffs at him, and it’s a little bit mean but Jonas knows he deserves it. “Do you?”

“No, I mean - sorry, I didn’t mean  _ I know _ .”

“It’s fine, look, I’m not ashamed or anything. It’s just, sometimes it gets so exhausting trying to talk to people about it and you - you with your  _ tell me everything. _ ”

Mikael gives him a soft smile and Jonas ducks his head, suddenly shy in the face of it. “Guilty.”

“I love my family, man. They’re  _ good people _ . I’m just - I’m not completely me when I’m with them. Not like with the boys. Not like with all of you.”

“Sure,” Jonas says, and he gets that. He talks to Mahdi about that a lot. About being one person here and another person there. “I guess they’re your family too, in a way. The boys.”

“My brothers,” Mikael agrees, putting a fist out for Jonas to hit before going on his way.

*

Jonas has always been blessed with friends.

Bad ones, that taught him lessons, and good ones that he never let go. Friends of friends, and people he’d never meet again, but he’d always remember their name, their face, that one thing they said that stuck with him.

Friends to keep. For as long as he can.

He knows he’s going to keep Mikael.

“Your good buddies now, hey?” Even says, the two of them in Eva’s kitchen getting drinks, and escaping the noise. Jonas and Mikael had just finished partnering up for a game of Charades, and Jonas had felt Even’s eyes on him the whole time.

He felt hot under them. Known.

“Yeah, for sure.”

“He’s special. I’ve always said it.”

“Right,” Jonas says awkwardly, remembering the brief retelling by Isak when Jonas had insisted on knowing what the hell that fight was about. He’s not sure he has all the facts on that score, but he knows he has no rights to them.

“Don’t worry, we’re passed all that,” Even tells him with a smile, giving Jonas’ shoulder a gentle shake and filling him with warmth. There’s something about Even, that smile, the way he brings people together without even trying.

Jonas is so happy he and Isak found each other.

“I’m glad you could move on, and be friends again."

“Me too. Those guys, they get under your skin. You can’t shake them.”

Jonas gets that. He feels that way about his boys, and he feels that way about Mikael, and he hopes his life is just an endless string of people who amaze him.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors,” Mikael all but shouts at Jonas as he runs up, cheeks flushed, fist out. Jonas spares a glance at Even who’s walking away amused, before peering at Mikael suspiciously over the neck of his bottle.

“What’s the wager?”

“I’m not telling you, that’s the exciting part.”

“Fuck off!”

“Come on, do it,” he needles, twisting his knuckles into Jonas’ arm until it hurts too much and he caves.

“Fine.” He puts his beer down, and pulls his shirt sleeves up, and ignores Mikael’s teasing laugh. “Best of three?”

“You and your threes! Fine. Let’s go.”

They rock, paper, scissors for the next ten minutes because they keep fighting over who wins each round. Mikael has Jonas in a headlock at one point, trying to wrench his fingers, trying to crawl on him and force him to the floor shouting  _ my whole body’s paper, my whole body’s paper! _

“Alright, alright, fucking hell, you win!”

“Awesome!” Mikael hollers, straightening out his shirt, calling out to everyone in the next room. “Jonas said he’d go and buy us more beer!”

Jonas chases him half way down the street, and they go buy the beer together.

*

Jonas never kissed a boy before.

He’d thought about it, sometimes; thought a lot about sexuality, and gender, and love. Thought about souls, and what they were and what they meant and how they knew. This one’s meant for me, this one is mine, this one feels right.

He’d thought Eva might have been his once. A soulmate.

Maybe she was. Maybe you never have just one.

“You want to come over for dinner tomorrow?” Mikael asks out of nowhere, the two of them side by side on the floor by Jonas’ bed, poring over old Film Books that Jonas had found in a thrift store.  

“At your house?”

Mikael rolls his eyes, elbowing Jonas in that  _ you’re an idiot _ way that he does. “Yes. Mama loves having people over. She’ll cook way too much food and you’ll probably be sick but…”

“I’d love to,” Jonas says, and it comes out too quick and too eager and Mikael looks at him and there’s no way he doesn’t see it.

There’s no way he can’t know.

“Cool.”

The thing about threes is that it’s not just integers or times or groups. It’s not just first, and seconds, and thirds. Not just one, two, three, or A, B, C, or past and present and future. It’s not just amigos, or muskateers, or stooges.

Sometimes it’s just moments. It’s just right here and right now.

The way Mikael’s lips go bright where he licks them, and Jonas thinks  _ Ready _ ,

The way Mikael takes a deep breath in and Jonas thinks  _ Set _ ,

The way Mikael tilts his head and Jonas thinks  _ Go _ : and it’s soft, and it’s slow, and it’s different. It’s a little rough around the edges, a little fumbling; Jonas pulling Mikael close by his hip and Mikael grabbing a handful of his shirt front.

It opens and it’s warm and it shoot straight down through every part of Jonas until he can feel his heart beating in his toes.

“Was that - “ he asks on a breath, their foreheads pressed together and Mikael’s eyes still fluttered close. “Are you - ”

“Mmm,” Mikael says, nodding and licking his lips again and his whole body seeming to fold in, Jonas suddenly wanting to get his hands underneath, to know how every part of him moves. “I’ve just never, I didn’t think I’d - ”

“I know, me either,” Jonas assures him, and he’s moving in for another kiss and Mikael’s pushing him to the floor and they’re kissing, and kissing, and kissing, like they never knew such a thing existed.

*

“I’m making you a life long promise,” Mikael says into the dark one night, wrapped around Jonas and twisted in the sheets and his smell in the air, their smell.

“Shit, that’s serious.”

“I promise only to work on trilogies.”

Jonas huffs, blowing at Mikael’s hair. “You’re an idiot.”

“No, I know it’s important to you.”

“Shutup.”

He laughs. “I promise always to wear three piece suits to premieres.”

“Good.”

“I promise always to thank you three times in my speeches.”

“I hope so.”

“And,” he says, a little heavier now, perching himself on one elbow so he can look down at Jonas as he says it. “I promise always to tell someone, morning, day and night, that you’re the best guy I ever met. That there’s not a single bad bone in your body and sometimes I don’t believe that you’re real. Like maybe I made you up.”

“Wow,” Jonas manages to say, reaching out a hand to cup at Mikael’s face, drawing patterns on his cheek with a thumb. He’s beautiful like this, in the greys and blues of the night; with all that hair splashed around him and those eyes so dark and sharp Jonas knows he could cut himself on them.

Mikael leans down for a kiss and Jonas pulls him over, pulls him on top, and all he can think to say is, “Thank you,” as Mikael’s teeth catch along his throat, “Thank you, thank you,” like that means what he wants it to, like Mikael would know.

Maybe one day Jonas will find the right words.

Three of them, probably. Like all good things.

**Author's Note:**

> thefancyspin.tumblr.com


End file.
